


Desperado

by Lyrstzha



Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Job, Crossover, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-28
Updated: 2009-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrstzha/pseuds/Lyrstzha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years and miles away from anything that makes any sense, Jayne tastes like home to Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperado

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valiant](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Valiant).



> Translation is in mouseover and also at the end of the text.

The first time Sam sucks cock, he isn't literally in Hell. Figuratively, sure, but he'd been aiming for the real thing, not this rattletrap science fiction future. Dimensional gates are even harder to master than all the books say, and they all advise _don't_. Bobby had warned him, of course. He'd made Sam promise, no trying to open a gate into Hell to rescue Dean.

Obviously, Sam's promises don't mean what they used to. A lot of things don't mean what they used to.

Sam's years and miles away from anything that makes any sense to him, but he felt like that before he got lost out here anyway. None of this seems _real_, but even back hunting down demons with Ruby, he couldn't quite believe in his life with any amount of conviction. _Just a dream_, he would tell himself sometimes, though Ruby, if she heard, would always snap at him, "Keep your shit together, Sam. This is as real as it gets." In theory, he supposed he should agree with her.

Sam never imagined that the future would look like this someday, but it's kind of reassuring that things don't seem all that different, not once you scratch the surface and get over the whole in-space thing. To be honest, _Serenity_ is no less comfortable than most of the crappy motels Sam has stayed in, even if the food takes some getting used to. Liftoff is still kind of a bitch even now, because that moment between atmo and black is a dizzy, nauseous one for him, and he can't quite seem to get past that.

When he first stumbled through a glowing portal into _Serenity_'s cargo bay, Sam could not possibly have scrambled for a reasonable account of himself; he didn't even know he wasn't on Earth, for fuck's sake, and it was pretty hard to play it cool when he figured _that_ out. He was lucky that Mal assumed he was a stowaway right off, and from there it was easy enough to play along and explain that he'd only hitched a ride because his was looking for his lost brother. Mal had filled in the part about slavers all by himself, and just like that, Sam had a cover story. Under the circumstances, he doesn't even bother with an alias.

Sam kind of expected Mal to go ahead and shoot him, or at least put him off the ship. But three weeks stuck here now, with another two to go before Sam can open another gate, and Mal has largely stopped threatening to space him, and even started to make use of him sometimes. Inara and Kaylee are mostly friendly, though Zoe has yet to say more than half a dozen words to him. She eyes him watchfully, and he's noticed that her right hand hovers near her hip when he's in the room. River can't come near him without making a small, keening noise like a seagull, and muttering, "too loud," or "transmogrification of cerebral structures," or just "wrong, wrong, wrong." Sam's not sure which of them is more disturbed by their encounters, but at least he doesn't claw at his own face afterwards, so he decides that it's probably River. Simon he's actually managed to talk to once or twice; being caught between a respectable, normal life and the desperate raggedy edge—especially for family—Sam can understand all too well.

But Simon still has River to care for. It reminds Sam of the raw, empty space beside himself, and that's not a place he can stand to think about. Not now, not quite two months after watching his brother die. Possibly not ever. Somewhere, Dean is being tortured. Somewhere he is screaming and burning and lost, and Sam can't _get_ there.

It's maybe not so surprising that he ends up on his knees for Jayne. Jayne smells of sweat, leather, road dust, cotton, and gun oil. He's crude and abrasive and earthy. He's always armed and almost always leering. He feels like home to Sam.

Turns out he tastes like it, too.

Sam pitches in moving cargo one day, carrying what seems like a hundred heavy crates ("Never you mind what's in 'em," Mal snaps when he asks, even though Sam saw _him_ peek surreptitiously under a lid himself not a moment before. "We ain't bein' paid for curiousity.") Sam works alongside Jayne for a couple of hours, getting Jayne's familiar scent deeper and deeper into his nose as Jayne sweats with the hard work and warm sun. His musk tickles and clings at the back of Sam's throat, and Sam drinks less water from his canteen to keep from washing it away.

When all the heavy lifting is done, Jayne arches against the tired muscles of his back and swaggers off to the shower. Sam doesn't mean to follow, to push him hard against the wall and press up tight against him. Sam doesn't mean to bury his face in Jayne's neck or to swipe his tongue into the hollow of Jayne's throat, where he can see sweat has pooled. The salt there burns a little on his tongue, but that's good, because he knows salt always means safety.

Jayne grunts and plants a big hand on Sam's breastbone to push him back firmly. "I ain't interested in gettin' fucked, an' I don't kiss on the mouth," he growls, still close enough to Sam's face for his breath to tickle maddeningly over Sam's cheekbone. "You're after somethin' else, maybe we can talk."

But Sam doesn't bother with words, not now that Jayne's brought up arresting possibilities he hadn't really started to think about consciously himself. Without even stopping to think about it, he just drops to his knees and begins tearing open Jayne's pants and wrenching them down roughly to mid-thigh. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's never cared less in his life.

"Guess that's okay, then," Jayne mutters, not really moving to stop Sam's demanding fingers.

Sam gets the cloth far enough down to shove an eager hand inside. Jayne is swelling already, half-hard and breathing a little faster against the forehead Sam has pressed into his belly. There's something wrong, something bothering Sam, and it's got nothing to do with the cock in his hands, unfamiliar and from an awkward angle though it is.

_He could get away_, Sam finds himself thinking wildly. It seems totally reasonable to yank sharply at the back of Jayne's knees and grapple him down the wall, even though Jayne lets out a grunt of surprise and struggles just a little going down. _Better_, Sam thinks with satisfaction when he's got Jayne sprawled out on the floor beneath him, bare-assed right on the metal grating of the deck, still in the corridor where anyone might catch them.

There's a flash of movement and the whisper of a gun clearing its holster. "Winchester," Jayne grits out, low and dangerous. "What in tarnation you think you're playin' at?" When Sam doesn't even flinch, Jayne warns, "You may'a got everybody feelin' all sorrowful over you, but that ain't gonna stop me from corin' your head like an apple, you don't watch yourself."

"Let me," Sam says, soft but steely, an irresistible command wrapped inside a plea. He doesn't pull back from Jayne. "Let me," he says again, and Jayne thrums with tension, but he doesn't pull the trigger.

So Sam totally ignores the cool circle of a gun barrel pressed against his temple, and hunkers down between Jayne's legs, spreading his broad hands over Jayne's shifting hips, pinning them to the floor. Warmth and musk radiate from Jayne's groin against Sam's face; he rocks forward to inhale deeply, his breath stirring the thick brush of Jayne's pubic hair. _Here_ is the essence of the scent Sam's been chasing all day. He nuzzles against Jayne's cock, the tip of his nose tracing a vein up to the intimate folds of the foreskin, and Jayne's hardness stops fading and starts to re-fill rapidly.

"Just open up already," Jayne snaps, withdrawing the gun and reaching out to curl his hand around the back of Sam's skull firmly. He tugs, not forcing Sam down, but obviously impatient.

If he'd thought about it, Sam would've sworn he had no idea what he planned to do next. He'd never really thought of himself as someone who secretly longed to suck cock. But the moment Jayne demands it, the idea strikes Sam like a divine revelation. Of _course_ he wants Jayne in his mouth. How did he not know that _weeks_ ago?

Sam lurches forwards, clumsy in his haste, and laps at the now swollen, reddening head of Jayne's cock. The taste is a little bitter, especially at the very tip where there's slick wetness welling out, but there's still the reassuring sting of salt here, too. He wriggles his tongue into that slit a bit, chasing the flavor, and he likes the way it makes Jayne twitch against him. Sam experimentally tries slipping the head into his mouth, stretching his jaw around it awkwardly. He's not quite sure what to do with his tongue, but he remembers just in time to curl his lips over his teeth. Jayne gives a small hiss and squirms restlessly beneath Sam, not _quite_ trying to thrust against the hands holding him down. The noise is intriguing, so Sam sucks a little, tentatively bobbing his head slightly. There's something about the motion, the feel of Jayne twitching and throbbing with a rapid pulse against his tongue, the way his jaw aches already from the stretch that feels heady and powerful. _Primal_. Sam wants more, even if he's not entirely sure how to get it.

Sam tries sliding down a little further, but he can't imagine getting the whole shaft into his mouth, so he reluctantly lifts a hand off of Jayne's hip to wrap around the neglected inches instead. He licks his palm and jacks off-rhythm and haltingly at first, before he can coordinate hand and mouth together.

"That's it," Jayne mutters in a thick voice, maybe aiming for appreciation or encouragement, but coming out more as a command. "_Take_ it."

It's the wrong thing to say to Sam just then. Jayne, Sam thinks to himself fiercely, has this whole thing backwards. He drops his weight down on Jayne's legs, and clamps both hands back over Jayne's hips hard enough to make Sam's fingertips white. There will surely be dotted curves of bruises bracketing the crescents of bone there afterwards. Sam sucks hard, probably too hard, and forces his mouth down until Jayne is jammed far deeper than is comfortable. He has to hold his breath then, and swallow desperately against his rebelling gag reflex, Jayne gasping in surprise and pleasure beneath him. Sam can only hold it for a minute before he has to back off, eyes watering and abused throat working hard not to bring up his lunch.

"_Go neong yung duh!_" Jayne chokes out feelingly, almost reverently. Sam doesn't comprehend the words, but he's sure he's totally behind the sentiment. He rewards Jayne with just the slightest scrape of teeth, catching against Jayne's foreskin ever so lightly; it's not something Sam likes himself, but somehow he suspects it's the right thing to do here. Jayne's immediate shuddering and tightly-strung silence seem to prove Sam right.

And that shudder so close under Sam's hands and his mouth, just a tremor beneath warm skin, a vibration like _Serenity_'s engine or the rumble of the Impala, it's too _much_. But it's exactly what Sam wants. He _growls_ around Jayne and lunges forward, fucking his own mouth with Jayne's rigid, spit-slick length so brutally hard that he can taste a coppery tang seeping from his own teeth-abraded lips. He ignores that, and pumps his head furiously again and again, swallowing at least half of Jayne's cock at every plunge. He can hear himself moaning, a rise and fall of desperate, guttural sound that is more animal than human, but he can't stop.

Sam's own hips thrash restlessly against the floor, seeking relief, but he can't stand to take a hand off of Jayne to reach for his own cock. He doesn't know why; he just knows he _needs_ to keep holding Jayne down.

_I'm going to make you come_, Sam wants to say, but he can't bring himself to free his mouth long enough to utter. _I'm going to take you so hard you have no world but me, make you give me everything, make you need it so bad you can't leave me. I'm going to swallow you down so deep, you'll never be able to pull out._ There's a savage joy to the shape the words make in his mind, even though he doesn't say them aloud. It's everything Sam would have thought he'd never want, but now it's just everything that's left. It's a little like fucking Ruby, and Sam thinks that's the weirdest thought he's had in days.

Just then, Sam's chin unexpectedly scrapes against Jayne's balls, the wiry hairs there catching slightly against the stubble on his jaw. That's suddenly irresistibly tempting, so he reluctantly lets Jayne's cock spring from his lips with a noise that is obscenely loud and wet, and he leaves it lonely and glistening while he dives down lower to suck those lightly-furred balls instead. Sam can't quite get both of them in his mouth at once, no matter how hard he tries, so he contents himself with taking one at a time and kneading it with his tongue. They draw up tighter against the base of Jayne's cock, almost like they're trying to squirm out of Sam's mouth, so he punishes them for that attempted escape with a few nips that wring satisfyingly choked off cries from Jayne. Sam presses his triumphant snarl into the seam between Jayne's balls, inhaling hard.

"_Finish_ it, damn you," Jayne growls breathlessly. "Ruttin' tease..."

_Yes_, Sam thinks, _yes_. _Sink the snare all the way in_.

Sam pulls his head back up to pounce on Jayne's cock again, just by chance blowing a lung-full of air out hard as he sinks down. _That_ gets a surprising hint of whine from Jayne, so Sam tries it again, scouring the delicate skin he holds deep inside in his mouth with blasts of breath on every downstroke, and hollowing his aching cheeks with strong suction as he pulls back. The tendons that lie over Jayne's hips strain and tremble under Sam's prisoning fingers, drawing impossibly tight.

That's when Sam's shifting hips catch, entirely accidentally, against Jayne's leg, and grind down instinctively with a sudden bloom of sensation. Sam stiffens and jerks—barely avoiding disastrously biting down—totally surprised by the fierce orgasm that seems to run along his spine like an electric shock and burst out of his groin almost painfully. He drives his mouth even further down in his frenzy until Jayne bottoms out in the back of his throat. Sam will be hoarse for days afterwards, but he doesn't feel it now at all. As his whole body spasms uncontrollably, something garbled—maybe a name, maybe an epithet, maybe an invocation of a god he's thoroughly pissed at these days—tears itself free from Sam's vocal chords to rumble around Jayne's cock.

Whatever it is, that caress of sound is echoed by a yell from Jayne's own lips as he comes hard, spurting a thick, bitter flood deep into Sam's burning, twitching throat. Sam swallows greedily over and over until he drains Jayne dry, all instinct rather than conscious choice. _So close_, Sam is thinking, _so close_. He could almost taste Jayne's true essence, grab hold of it and rip it free, just like he learned to do with demons. He could swallow it down with Jayne's come and hold that whisper of soul where no one would ever be able to take it from him. He _almost_ reaches out with his mind, greedy and thirsty in a way he isn't prepared for, before he can control himself. He tells himself he never would, not really, and in the haze of sex and skin Sam convinces himself completely, beyond even the smallest cold frisson of foreboding self-doubt.

After he manages to rein himself in, Sam backs off just enough to heave in a desperate breath before he passes out from lack of air. He keeps his lips stubbornly around the softening head, not wanting to let go completely. He stopped himself from taking more than he should; it isn't right that he should have to let go of _everything_.

"Hey," Jayne complains sharply, with an exhausted swat at the side of Sam's head. "Come on, leggo." He looks down the sweat-soaked, muscled length of his torso at Sam, who glares back with slitted eyes and doesn't budge.

"Not that this weren't real nice," Jayne adds, perhaps realizing that diplomacy is the best policy under the circumstances. "Wouldn't mind doin' it again sometime. But not right this gorram _minute_." He tugs at Sam's hair, not painfully, but insistently.

And Sam finally backs off, because what is he thinking, anyway? He can't live the rest of his life with his face attached to Jayne's groin. Of course he can't.

"Okay then." Jayne gives a small sigh of relief as Sam releases him with a tiny, wet pop. Jayne climbs to his feet and yanks his pants back up. "Think I'll get that shower I was aimin' for," he remarks conversationally, and he turns away. He pauses only half a step further and turns to look over his shoulder at Sam, still sprawled out on the body-warmed grating of the deck, damp and mussed and flushed, lips still swollen and slightly torn. "Thanks, Winchester," he says more softly, almost kindly. "You got a shiny mouth on you. Kind a man could crawl into and stay awhile."

_But not forever_, Sam thinks but does not say, watching Jayne's receding back with weary eyes. But he lets Jayne go anyway.

"Awhile isn't very long at all when you're on the wrong end of it," Sam murmurs to himself without meaning to. He's not sure why this gnaws at him, but it does. He lies there trying to work it out as the metal under him goes colder and the sweat and come cool to a clammy chill inside his rumpled clothes. He still has no answer when _Serenity_'s engines roar to life and leap towards the stars above, but as he puts his head between his knees and waits for the sickening lurch of vertigo to pass, he thinks maybe it's all of a piece: there's just too much empty space all around him and nothing to hold onto.

"Even if you take a man as hard as you can, you can't hold him," Sam mutters to his hands, which lie empty and useless on the deck, palms sticky and calloused in places which no longer serve him these days.

"Him, him, him," the corridor echoes back at Sam very faintly, a brassy and hollow whisper that travels through the deck below to be swallowed up by the vast void of unending night beyond.

**********

_Go neong yung duh!_= Son of a bitch!


End file.
